


Unspeakable

by Decaykid



Series: Unyielding [1]
Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Angst, Canon-Typical Behavior, Gen, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Prostitution, M/M, Pseudo-Incest, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-25
Updated: 2019-02-25
Packaged: 2019-11-05 13:03:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,990
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17919296
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Decaykid/pseuds/Decaykid
Summary: There have been moments, where he came close to confessing. But each time, he swallowed down the words. Klaus didn’t seem to be looking for love, just an escape. He’s always searching for his next high, his next drink, his next fuck. Ben has been here all these years, and if Klaus wanted him, well, wouldn’t that be clear by now?





	Unspeakable

“It was on one of those... particular missions... when-“ Klaus stifles a yawn, “- such an occurrence...”

 

Ben tears his eyes from the pages of Vanya’s tell-all to gaze softly at Klaus as his eyes slowly flutter shut. The book slips from Klaus’ relaxing hand into his lap, folding the corners of the pages as it settles into his lap. Ben wishes he could pick up the book, fold down the pages and set it gently on the nightstand. He wishes he could take the covers, pull them over Klaus’ sweatpants with the rehab center’s name plastered up the side of the leg and his t-shirt that’s a size too small and fits him in all the right places, exposing inches of skin that show hip bones and a fine strip of hair so that he can tuck him in. He wishes he could turn off the lamp and hold Klaus so that he wouldn’t be afraid of the dark, of the loneliness.

 

Oh how he aches to touch, to be touched, to feel.

 

But he exists on another plane, somewhere in between Here and There.

 

He makes do with what he has, and moves in close to Klaus, so close that they could be touching, and he pretends that Klaus’ head is resting against his shoulder and not the headboard. He pretends that he can feel the warmth of Klaus’ body, and not the dulling emptiness of this never ending purgatory. And he pretends the lights are still on because they both fell asleep while reading Vanya’s book, and not because Klaus needs them on, that Ben isn’t powerless to protect him.

 

 

 

Four days they’ve been out of rehab, and Klaus has already managed to crawl his way into some scumbag’s bed. It’s for one night, maybe two. It’s for the roof, the free meals, the shower. It’s so that he has a warm body to curl into when the cold and dark become overwhelming.

But it doesn’t make it any easier.

In the beginning, Ben thought the needles were the worst, but he soon learned the pills could be just as bad. It took him months to learn what was what, their affects, how they mixed. He learned which ones were for fun, and which once’s landed Klaus in the back of an ambulance. Those nights are the longest, but it’s nights like tonight that are the roughest.

Tonight’s choice delicacy is acid, but Klaus seems keen on searching for more pleasures. Ben’s stomach rolls as Klaus places his hands on his Flavor Of The Night’s neck and leans in for a soft, sensual kiss.

“You don’t have to do this.” Ben days like he always does, each time convincing himself it’s a bargain not a plea, but as Klaus leans away from the kiss and opens glassy, pupil blown eyes, Ben knows he’s too far gone.

“I want this.” Klaus says earnestly, though his words are slow and muddled together.

Ben knows he wants it, knows he needs it.

That’s the painful part.

Yet he stays. Stays because someone has to be there to watch over him because no one else will, not even Klaus.

He stays until Klaus’ Bad Decision runs his hand up the inside of Klaus’ thigh, then Ben is walking through walls until he finds himself standing on the sidewalk in the middle of the night watching as the occasional car drives by.

They used to fight about it, yell until Klaus’ voice would go hoarse, until his lips would tremble and tears fell and he couldn’t form words.

“You don’t understand.” Klaus would say once the sobs ebbed down and the shaking stopped.

“It’s a form of prostitution.” Ben would say, even though he hated how the fights would leave Klaus looking more broken then before.

He never had anything to offer the people he stayed with, nothing but himself.

“You’re selling yourself.” He’d say with anger and disgust but Klaus would have his hands over his ears, begging Ben to please shut the fuck up.

He had been right, Ben hadn’t understood. It took a couple of years before he realized that the welling in his chest every time he saw Klaus take his shirt off as he slipped between the sheets with a stranger wasn’t disgust, but jealousy. Jealousy that Klaus had to go to someone else for comfort, for relief. Jealousy that someone else could touch him, could hold him, could rock him through his pain, his pleasure. Jealous that he has been by Klaus’ side, through the good nights and bad, through the raves and homeless shelters, the rehab centers and hospitals, the streets and strangers’ places, the highs and lows, the trips and the hangovers, the chemical induced euphoria and the sobering flashbacks but Klaus keeps taking drugs, and drinking and fucking just to stay numb, just to keep Ben out. It stings, that he’d rather run to a stranger then confide in Ben, despite all they’ve been through.

There have been moments, where he came close to confessing. Like that night when Klaus laughed with Adderall mirth as he danced beneath the warm glow of the streetlight, and Ben almost saw a glimpse of the lost child in his distant gaze. Or that time he was nursing tequila as they made their way down the railroad tracks, talking about getting lost in the woods and starting over. Or a few months back during a recovery program when they were reminiscing about the few good times the children had, mostly when the  of them were together, and Klaus had looked up at him, eyes clear and gaze soft, with a smile that was almost shy but mostly sad. But each time, he swallowed down the words. Klaus didn’t seem to be looking for love, just an escape. He’s always searching for his next high, his next drink, his next fuck. Ben has been here all these years, and if Klaus wanted him, well, wouldn’t that be clear by now?

He waits, watches, there’s nothing else he can do. The neighbor’s sprinklers start up. A dog barks somewhere down the street. Another car goes by. The minutes pass. The sprinklers shut off. The dog barks again. He waits, waits until the colors in the sky begins to shift, purple, blue, pink, orange then the world is washed in gold and slowly the world begins to stir. Birds chirp, people make their way to their vehicles or their mailboxes, the sun rises above the trees and rooftops and Ben wishes he didn’t have to see it alone, wonders how many of the people that mindlessly go about their way around him are too lost in the bustle of day to day life to appreciate the little things, the little things he misses.

He takes a chance, steps back inside to find the house quiet, and reluctantly he returns to the once place he doesn’t want to be, but feels he has to.

He just needs to know he’s safe, relatively speaking.

He finds Klaus partially spread out across the sheets, still breathing and fast sleep; he has one hand on his chest, one arm above his head and one leg half thrown out. Thought they’re sharing a bed, the scumbag and Klaus aren’t touching in the least bit, and Ben feels that familiar heat in his chest, reminds himself that Klaus only wants to be used, that everything for him is quick and temporary.

Ben picks a spot to lounge, once comfortable, his eyes immediately are drawn to Klaus and he allows himself to brood, to fantasize. It’s hard not to entertain his thoughts, with the house still and quiet and Klaus’ body on display. His gaze follow the curves of his body, the sharp lines of collar and hip bones, notes the bruises and scratches- from sex and drug induced episodes. Ben thinks of touching him, thinks of fingertips on all those rough lines and hard edges. Thinks of his fingers curling in his hair. He thinks of kissing him, his lips, his nose and chin, forehead, jaw and neck, lips covering every square inch of skin, kissing insecurities away. And he thinks of holding him afterwards, holding all his broken pieces together, holding him until he no longer feels alone, holding him until he finally feels peace and can drift off to sleep without the aid of weed or alcohol.

Morning turns to midafternoon, and Klaus slowly stirs awake.

“Fuck.” He grunts as he stretches his body, head to toe. He sits up slowly, rubbing fingers through missed hair as he does so.

“What a night.”

“Yep.” Ben says nonchalantly, he wonders if Klaus can even remember any of it.

Klaus stands from the bed and moves at a leisurely pace as he gathers his clothing from the floor.

“What’s the plan for today?” Ben asks as he begins to get dressed.

“Oh, I don’t know.” Klaus says through a yawn as he tugs on his shirt.

“Definitely food, and then-“ he stops to lace up his boot, “- a little look around. Maybe we can catch a movie, go from there.”

A movie, that sounds nice. It’ll be just the two of them, at least for an hour and a half, two hours if he’s lucky.

“What about Sleeping Beauty over there?” Ben asks, just so he can hear Klaus say it.

Klaus turns to look over his shoulder, then back at Ben.

“What about him?” Klaus asks as he finishes tying up his other boot, then he sits back. 

“I got what I wanted.” Klaus says with a wink, then he’s back on his feet with a huff.

“What do we want for breakfast?” Klaus asks as he and Ben make their way down the sidewalk into the business side of town. Ben pretends to mull his options over, though he knows in the end it’s Klaus who has the final say, since he’s the only one of the two who can actually consume food.

“I’m thinking... a burger. How’s that sound to you?”

Ben moves his gaze from the pavement to Klaus.

“Only if you order fries.” He says, and Klaus laughs.

“What do you have against tots?”

“Restaurants rarely get them right, you know, the crunch to soft ratio.”

“Okay, deal.”

A comfortable silence falls over the two, but it doesn’t last for long.

“Hey, so uh- where’d you go last night?” Klaus asks conversationally.

Ben shoves his hands further into the pockets of his jacket.

“Oh, just... for a walk.”

Klaus gives him a sheepish, apologetic look, but Ben is too busy staring intently at the ground as they walk to notice.

“I know, you don’t like it, when I ...” Klaus sighs, kicks at a pebble and watches as it goes skipping into the middle of the road. “You don’t have to stick around though.”

There’s no malice behind his words, but it doesn’t stop the sting.

Ben could say _‘someone has to keep an eye on you’_. Or he could say _‘have you ever wondered why I stay’_. He could ask _‘don’t you know why I do this?’_ And he could answer _‘I do it for you.’_

But it doesn't matter to Klaus, right? It's not as if he actually cares about Ben's presence, right? That's why he's so intent on living in his warm little inebriated bubble, it's better, safer then living in the real world, then having to spend time thinking about why Ben always hangs around even after all these years, because thinking is too painful. That’s what the highs are for, because even a moment of clarity is too much.

“You’re a real idiot.” Ben says instead, and that doesn’t even begin to scratch the surface, but he leaves it at that, lets Klaus continue to live on his self induced ignorance. And they both know that Ben will always be there.

Because that’s what you do for love.


End file.
